


Consequences

by marvelous_imagination



Series: James Bond, Q and their dysfunctional relationship [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Caring James Bond, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, James Bond and Q live together, M/M, Protective James Bond, Q has cats, Sick Q, Turing and Linux, Workaholic Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 19:44:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11168793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelous_imagination/pseuds/marvelous_imagination
Summary: What if Q's stressful life starts affecting his health?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: I'm not a native speaker.  
> This story is NOT beta-read. I'm sure it contains mistakes. I hope it won't frustrate you.

Q was known for being the youngest quartermaster in the history of MI6, for being an unprecedented tech-genius and one of the brightest minds in the modern world, but James Bond sometimes felt like it's too much for Q.

Q did an exceptional work running the whole department, managing to create the best equipment while coping with limited financial facilities and beating various criminal masters just through cybersphere, but James Bond often felt like Q's trying to cope with too many things at once.

Q utilised his skills, worked overtimes to be able to fill all of the paperwork while supervising his underlings and sacrificed many of his free days for the Queen and Country, but James Bond always felt like Q deserved better and safer life.

However James Bond had never mentioned any of his opinions because he knew that Q would have just rolled his eyes and brushed him off with some wry comment. This was until Q's stressful life started affecting his health.

It wasn't something that happened overnight, actually, it took James Bond months to notice how Q's hands were always cold and trembling, how he dressed in thicker layers of cardigans while complaining about the low temperature in the basement and the way he coughed quietly not wanting anyone to see.

But eventually James Bond noticed and since then he had been finding a way to help Q, though Q might see it otherwise.

***

"You look like death warmed over," James said taking a seat in Q's office.

"I'm glad to see you as well," Q replied without glancing away from the computer screen.

"Just give me a minute to finish this," the agent obeyed and stayed quiet for the next few minutes, watching his lover's fingers flying on the keyboard in unbelievable speed. Then Q finally looked at him and smiled.

"For God's sake, Q, when was the last time you slept?"

"Tuesday," Q took off his glasses and leant back to his chair.

"It's Friday, you know," the double-oh agent stood up and made his way to the younger man.

"Well, I have to admit that I can strongly feel the sleep deficit, but I plan on going to bed tonight, so it will be fine," Q relaxed as Bond's hands began to massage his stiff shoulders. James was about to comment on Q's unhealthy lifestyle, but the quartermaster spoke again.

"How was your trip with Mallory, by the way?"

"Boring, tedious, dull, I can't think of any other synonyms right now. I felt like a bloody stupid security guard," Bond tangled his fingers in Q's messy hair.

"You didn't just feel like this, in fact, you actually were one," Q replied with a smirk on his face.

"And you should stop," Q said as the double-oh agent started unfastening his tie. It was meant to sound determined, but instead of that there was no clue of Q actually wanting his lover to stop massaging him.

"Maybe I should, so we can go home, order something to eat and go to bed," James turned Q's office chair, so the younger man was facing him.

"So?"

"I can't. I have too much work to do and it's not even afternoon yet," Q said while fastening his tie again.

"Oh, don't lie, we both know that you can leave right now and nobody will give a fuck as long as you haven't left this building for days," Bond watched his younger partner for a moment.

"Are you aware of the fact that there are other employees as well? You know, when you're the head of the department, it does not mean you have to do all of the work by yourself," Q looked away and then stood up.

"I'm afraid my lunch break's over," Q said, not looking at the agent.

"We haven't been even talking for ten minutes,"

"I'm sorry, but I have an appointment set for 12:30. I'll see you at home,"

"Q, this is getting ridiculous. I'm not leaving until you are,"

"That's very mature. But I don't have the time for arguing, so have a good time here, I'm heading for R&D," before Bond could say something, Q quickly left his office.

It was always like this. They never really talked about the pseudo-relationship they had. In Bond's opinion it was the most normal relationship he could have as an assassin working for secret intelligence service (besides he was never the one enjoying peace and usuality) and Q thought that starting a relationship with Bond was probably the most dangerous and worst decision he had ever made, but at the same time he enjoyed it too much to end it.

They were fighting and arguing a lot. They were sometimes screaming at each other, swearing and regretting that they began living together, however, these particularly nasty arguments usually ended up with a wonderful shag that calmed them down.

They weren't naïve. They both realised that this kind of relationship wasn't healthy by far, but none of them really cared. At first, it was meant to be just about sex. They didn't set any rules, it was spontaneous. Occasionally, Bond came to Q's flat, they had sex and after that Bond left, but once, the agent was too tired to go to his own place, so he stayed and they spent a night sleeping in Q's comfortable bed. And this is how it began.

***

When James Bond stepped in Q's office later that day, he found Q dryly coughing into the sleeve of his favourite cardigan. Immediately after Q spotted him, he tried to suppress it, but failed and started coughing again.

The agent didn't say anything, he just took quartermaster's empty Scrabble mug and left to make Q a cup of tea. After a while, he returned with a steaming cup of tea in one hand and a small package in the other. He put the mug on Q's desk and began to unpack the box.

"Do me a favour and take this pill," James passed the pill to Q, who was sitting still at his desk. His eyes were reddish and the contrast between the dark circles under his eyes and his pale skin made him look sick.

"It's for the flu,"

"I don't have the flu, I just cough a bit," Q said straightening his glasses.

"I bet you have a fever as well,"

"Nonsense,"

"Do you want me to bring the thermometer?" Q sighed and took the pill. He was too tired for arguing, after all, he had been awake for more than 48 hours.

***

They finally arrived home. James paid for the cab and woke up Q, who was sleeping during the whole drive. When they got into the flat, Bond tried to persuade Q to eat something, however, Q refused and went to bed.

"Come to bed with me," Q shouted from the bedroom. They undressed quietly and curled in bed. Q's skin was burning against Bond's, but the younger man was still trembling with cold. James took a deep breath and was about to say something, but Q was faster again.

"Shut up. I want to sleep,"

"But-," the agent was interrupted.

"I know you care. I'll be fine," Q said gently.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Q's stressful life starts affecting his health?

Bond was woken up by morning sunlight coming through the window. They had forgotten to pull the curtains together before they went to bed the previous day. At that particular moment, when he was almost blinded by the annoying sunlight, James would swear that forgetting to pull them together was one of the greatest mistakes he had ever made.

He had been considering standing up and taking care of these bloody curtains for a while, but when he eventually decided to do so, it was Q's warm body pressed against his right shoulder that stopped him. No, Q wasn't just warm, he was burning. 

"Q-," the agent began slightly shaking with the younger man.

"Wake up," Q just pushed himself away and rolled over. 

"-‘s the time?" James looked at the alarm clock set on Q's nightstand.

"Five past seven," the quartermaster didn't react to his response at first. Bond even thought for a moment that he fell asleep again.

Q took a deep breath, which made him cough. He gathered all of his energy to roll one more time and lay on his back. He felt like his head's about to explode but didn't show any kind of discomfort. Then he finally spoke.

"Then why are you waking me?" his voice was low and steady. 

"You're burning,"

"If you weren't pressed on me, you wouldn't feel so hot," Q said matter-of-factly.

Bond stood up and made his way to the doorway.

"This isn't about me feeling hot, it's about you having the flu. Apparently, your brain's boiling in your head," James left the room. 

Q sighed heavily as he sat and rested against the headboard of their king-seized bed. His vision was blurry, but he couldn't persuade himself to take his glasses on because he knew that it would make the pain in his head only stronger.

He got up and regretted the stupid idea immediately after. His temples were pounding painfully and together with his accelerated pulse made him feel dizzy. However, he stubbornly kept walking towards the bathroom. 

"Shit, bloody stupid headache," Q murmured quietly.

There were pills in a chest of drawers next to the sink. Well, Q was absolutely sure he always kept them in the second drawer of this piece of furniture, but he couldn't find them. His hands had been groping for the small package unsuccessfully until he gave in and sat down on the pleasantly cold floor.

With eyes shut, Q ran hands through his hair in an attempt to ease the edgy pain in the back of his head.

"Q, what are you doing here?" Bond's voice worked as a knife cutting Q's brain into slices.

"Just keep quiet and go away," the blinded quartermaster said and moved closer to a bath.

James didn't respond, but came in and knelt down to Q. The quartermaster looked truly miserable, plus he hadn't made any dry comment about what he could be possibly doing on the floor of his bathroom on an early morning, so he had to be feeling rather awful.

"You should swallow these, so you could go back to bed and get some more sleep," the agent handed him two pills, which Q presumed were standard painkillers prescribed for the flu.

No, Q didn't need these. All he fucking needed was to get rid of a pesky headache, so he could get himself together and stop behaving like an easy target for people around. 

Yes, it's true that they had been living together for over a year, but Bond was a double-oh agent and you shouldn't be so naïve to actually trust a secret spy, who had been killing and seducing people for living since you can remember.

Q felt vulnerable. He was sitting on the floor with his eyes closed, and even if he had opened them, his vision would have been too blurry. He was showing his weaknesses to Bond and he didn't consider it to be a good decision. Q hated feeling vulnerable.

"Just go away," the younger man whispered.

"You know I won't. If you think you're more stubborn than I am, then you're pretty wrong," James said in low voice. The room stayed quiet for a while, but then Q took a deep breath and spoke.

"Fine-," he eventually opened eyes and continued.

"But I don't need these," he pushed Bond's hand away.

"There has to be a package, white with blue stripe and, I can't remember the name, but it should be in the second drawer," Q tried to speak normally, but the pain was rapidly getting worse as he kept his eyes opened.

Bond watched the young quartermaster for a while before he opened the middle drawer. 

"There's no package like this, Q," James said far too loud for Q.

"Then look in the next drawer!" Q raised his voice as the pain pulsed in his head once more. The agent went through the content of the whole chest of drawers and finally found the box of pills Q had talked about. It was crushed a bit as it had been stuck between two drawers, but more importantly, there were still a few pills.

"There you go," Bond handed a pill to the younger man, who accepted it without a word and swallowed it a minute later.

"But, do me a favour and drink some water," fortunately Q felt too sick to argue, so he just took the glass and drank two or three swigs of pure water he usually  
avoided.  
***  
It seemed like the quartermaster eventually fell asleep again, so James quietly left the bedroom and closed the door. He looked at the watch above the entrance to the kitchen. He thought how ridiculous it looked. There was not enough space for standard size watch to fit in, so Q coped with the small problem in his own very-Q-way. He rebuilt an old alarm clock and hung it up right above the entrance. 

Bond could never quite understand how Q's mind worked. He asked him several times why he put the effort and sacrificed the precious free time of his to rebuild a bloody alarm clock, but Q always answered the same. He claimed that there would be too many things on the one side of the wall in comparison to the other side. Bond's response to this statement always remained the same as well, he just shook his head and let it be. 

Anyway, it was almost eight and the agent didn't think he would be able to get some more sleep, so he made his way to the kitchen in order to make himself a cup of strong coffee he was used to.

A few moments later, he was already sitting by a dining table with the steaming mug of coffee and his laptop. He looked at the package of pills Q searched for. Apparently, Q was suffering from a bad migraine this morning, so Bond could guess what these pills were used for, yet he decided to find more information about it.

He searched on the internet and soon found out that this particular type of medicine was especially used for strong migraines. Besides, it had a great number of quite serious side effects which quite scared him, to be honest.

Although he moved in with Q more than a year ago, he didn't know anything about Q having migraines. James checked the date messily written on the box. It was prescribed in November which wasn't even four months ago, still, Q almost managed to empty it. How was it possible that he didn't notice anything? It's true that he spent a lot of time abroad on missions, but he still couldn't believe that Q could hide things so well.

Well, either Q liked it or not, they needed to talk and the world could be sure that someone like James Bond would not let it be. He had already cared way too much for Q.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Q's stressful life starts affecting his health?

It was cold, or it at least Q felt bloody cold. He thought it must be freezing in the room, so he covered his whole body with both his and James’ duvet to keep himself from shivering.

The quartermaster had no idea if it was day or night because he still kept his eyes closed. Despite the fact that most of the pain from earlier was gone, he didn’t feel very well. The medication left him numb and besotted although he couldn’t be sure if they weren’t consequences of the deep slumber he had just woken from.

However, it was time to get up and do something, Q told himself but couldn’t manage to force his body to crawl out of bed and face the cool surrounding. After a while, he eventually opened eyes to see nothing but darkness. Q knew that his mobile phone was probably lying on the nightstand next to him, yet he didn’t want to risk the ache caused by sudden brightness of the display.

“If only people saw you like this, weak and vulnerable, a coward that is not able to face a bit of pain,” Q murmured to himself. He ran hands through his hair, a ritual he repeated always when he had to do something he disliked.

  
“Oh, look at yourself, you’re supposed to be the quartermaster of MI6,” he exhaled.

  
***

  
Bond looked up as he heard a soft click and the doors to their bedroom opened. Q appeared a moment after, wearing his favourite flannel pyjama pants and one of his big T-shirts, this one with some comics motif.

  
The agent put aside his laptop. He had been working on his mission report that should have been handed to Mallory more than two weeks ago.

  
“How are you?” he asked while watching Q slowly wandering through the living room.

  
“I’m fine,” the younger man answered briefly and continued his journey to the kitchen. James wouldn’t believe him even if he was blind because besides that Q seemed to have trouble moving forward, he coughed louder.

  
The quartermaster began making his morning cup of tea. He filled the kettle with water and turned it on. That was when Bond noticed the strong tremor in Q’s hands. This totally wasn’t fine. He quickly stood up and reached Q.

  
“Let me take it,” he took Q’s mug from his shaking hands and placed it on the kitchen desk.

  
“I’m fine, Bond,” the quartermaster tried to argue, but failed and was pushed down to sit on a chair.

  
“You’re not. This is getting over the edge, Q, look at yourself,”

  
They remained silent for the next few minutes. James prepared the tea together with two slices of buttered toast and sit next to his younger lover.  
“You should eat something,” he said as he pushed the plate with toasts to Q.

  
Q considered it to be a bad idea to argue with Bond about anything as he was still worried that a migraine could appear again, so he just accepted the offered food.

  
***

  
“I didn’t know you suffered from migraines,” James said carefully.

  
Q didn’t react.

  
“And these pills are quite strong,” James added quietly.

  
Q didn’t react.

  
“Q, are you listening? I’m trying to start a conversation here and if you’re not aware what conversation is-,” Bond was interrupted.

  
“You don’t have to speak that loud. I’m not deaf,”

  
“Fine, then, how is the headache?” the older man spoke again.

  
“And if you say, you’re fine, I swear God I’ll kill you,” Q chuckled a bit.

  
“It seemed like you wanted me to get better and not kill me,”

  
Bond rolled his eyes and tightened the embrace around Q, then frowned.

  
“I think you still do have a fever,”

  
“I hate this type of conversations, umm, I thought you hated it as well, so what are you trying to do right now?” Q kept his voice low and steady.

  
“I’ve never said I hate it,”

  
“And that’s why you always avoid these conversations along with Medical, Psych and everyone else who attempts to talk to you about your health. Sorry, but I won’t take health advice from you very seriously,” Q tried to sit up however Bond stopped him.

  
“It’s different, I have a completely different job,” James argued.

  
“Can’t you hear yourself? You’re telling me absolute rubbish,” the quartermaster’s patience was wearing thin. The agent took a deep breath and continued.

  
“I mean, my situation’s completely different from yours. I’m an assassin, I’m used to facing danger in various situations and injuries are almost part of my job. I don’t have much time to spend worrying to be a good patient,” Bond studied the ceiling while convincing Q.

  
“Besides, you’re supposed to be young and healthy,” his words were almost inaudible and for a moment Q wasn’t sure if he heard it properly.

  
“You almost sound worried,” Q said, curious what the spy’s answer might be. Nevertheless, James just shook his head and got up.

  
“I’m not. I just hope you have your last will and testament done, so I could live here after you die from exhaustion in the next few months. You know, I quite like this flat, so I don’t fancy moving out,” his voice was monotone. He looked directly in Q’s eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Q didn’t pay much attention to the incident with Bond. And maybe he should have. He let Bond leave and didn’t try to get in touch with him that day anymore, thinking the older man just needed time to calm down. However, days passed and there was no sign of Bond.

The day after their argument, Q returned back to work. Despite the fact that he still felt like walking corpse, Q was kind of proud of himself that he managed to push the limits even further.

The quartermaster has always hated the way his body bounded him and forced him to slow down. He could touch type in unbelievable speed but it wasn’t enough, he could lead the whole Q-branch but it was never perfect, he could work for hours without any break but at the end of the day he also needed a tiny rest which he sometimes hated himself for.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Q might have been aware that the way he was thinking was not completely fine that it’s quite destructive, but he didn’t think about it. At least not until the day there was quarantine at MI6.

***

The day was a disaster. Q hadn’t slept the whole night so he felt tired to death and the only thing he desired, was to survive the shift. However, it wouldn’t be Q if his wishes came true and he could easily overcome his problems.

He was filling up the paperwork in his office when Bond entered without a single knock. The quartermaster looked up and sighed. He didn’t want to deal with the agent.

“What do you want?” Q’s voice sounded a little raspy but still firm.

“Nice to see you as well,” James closed the door behind himself and sat down on the sofa.

“What do you want?” the younger man repeated his question and began studying the papers again.

“Wanted to see if you’re still alive,”

“Oh, so thoughtful of you. Thanks for your care but you see that I’m capable of taking care of myself,”

James smirked.

“If that’s what you came here for, you can leave now. Have a nice day,” the irony in Q’s voice couldn’t be missed.

A new argument would have certainly begun between the two of them if there wasn’t a loud alarm interrupting the short moment of silence in the room.

Bond immediately stood up with his gun in hand.

“Wait here,” he snapped at Q, ready to leave the office. The quartermaster wanted to protest but James was faster.

“I said wait here! Hide under the desk and stay there. I’ll be right back,” the agent charged the gun and quickly left the room.

***

Q didn’t obey as usually. He took his own gun from the drawer of his desk and loaded it in rush. Then, he remembered to activate the crisis mode on his computers and removed the hard disk with the most secret information.

After that, Q actually hid behind his desk. He rolled up the cardigan along with the shirt he had on and glued the hard disk with black scotch tape on his lower abdomen. When he made sure it was securely fixed to his body, he dressed up again.

The time he was in the process of standing up, somebody opened the door again. Q froze. He leaned against the side of his desk so he could remain in that position and not give away his hiding place.

He held his breath and grabbed the gun lying next to him.

“Do me a favour and don’t shoot at me,”

Q exhaled. He finally stood up.

“What’s going on?” his pulse remained accelerated.

“Medical found out that 003 and three other MI6 employees have meningitis. Everyone has to stay where they are until people from Medical come and test us. It’s a direct order from M,” James smiled at him.

“Which means, by the way, that I can’t leave you alone even though I would certainly love to do so. M’s orders, you know,” Bond’s voice was already full of complacency at that time.

“Sheer luck that you’re the type that always obeys orders,”

***

“It’s been almost an hour by now. Where are they?” Q was annoyed by Bond’s presence.

“Have you met 003 today?” the agent was laying on the sofa, watching the ceiling of Q’s office.

“He came here to hand in the equipment. In one piece, by the way,” Q gave him a reproachful look.

“Your immune function is low, you’re more likely to get it,” James kept his voice low but still well audible.

“They’ve been wandering around MI6 for days! You met them multiple times, plus, the symptoms, I thought were symptoms of flu, are very similar to symptoms a meningitis,”

“You shouldn’t be with me in one room, then. I might be infected,”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Q. You should also consider that you’re a human which means you can get ill as well as other human beings,” the agent finally turned to Q.

He had been watching the younger man for a while before he spoke again.

“I won’t stop. You can say whatever you want but I won’t stop. Don’t you ever think you’re more stubborn than James Bond,” Bond seemed to be calm although the truth was he felt fucking worried about Q.

The quartermaster couldn’t help but grin.

“Is that a bet?”

“If you are that brave,” James smirked and Q finally looked at him.

“I really hate you. You get my nerves like nobody else. I don’t know why I allowed you to move in with me,” Q said with one breath and kept looking Bond directly in the eyes.

“I can’t stand you. You drive me crazy and I don’t understand why I care about you,” the older man answered.

“But I kind of like you as well,” the quartermaster said quietly.

“And is it enough?”

“I don’t know but I might not care-,” Q coughed.

“I like the way I live and don’t have to change that with you. It’s important for me. And this sounds like serious conversation, doesn’t it?”

Before James Bond could say anything, somebody knocked and opened the door without waiting for a response. Three employees from Medical hastily entered quartermaster’s office.

***

“Pass me the package of cigarettes from the second drawer,” Q stretched out on the bed.

“It’s not the best time for smoking, you know,”

“I don’t care. I agreed to go home, rest and take the medicine. Now I want to smoke a cigarette,”

“You behave like spoiled child,”

“You have already smoked in my bedroom several times and I cannot do that?” Q sat and leaned against the headboard.

“If you die due to smoking during bad flu, write a letter that I warned you,” James laught and threw the cigarettes to Q.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked the story. Would you be so kind and leave a comment below about what you didn't ( or maybe also did) like? I would really appreciate it. Thank you.


End file.
